


Vir Sulevanin

by FenHarelsPride (Andauril)



Series: Siryn Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, forshadowing, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andauril/pseuds/FenHarelsPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Siryn Lavellan came to venture to the conclave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

It was sleeting. Thick, wet flakes fell slowly from the clouded sky, drenching thehumid earth underneath her feet to make her shiver. Winter this far north inthe Free Marches was usually bearable, especially while they camped in the river delta. But the nearby delta arms and the humid air also attracted this sort of weather when winter came.

Siryn, kneeling down, draw her knife and chopped leaves of  _halan’enansal_ and embrium, gathering the herbs in her pouch. It was a simple enough task, one Maren could have done herself if she hadn’t been so busy tending to the wounds of one their clans hunters.

Siryn sealed the pouch and rose to head back to the encampment. The flakes melted in her hair, glued it to hair cheeks and she brushed them out of her brow. Her steps caused a slight sucking sound whenever she lifted them off the muddy earth.

She knew she was back when she saw the statue of Fen’Harel, snout and eyes turned away from the camp, staring at her approach. She passed it and strode towards the hearth mistress’  _aravel_  – already did she hear the muffled moans and screams of Varlin.

Siryn slipped inside, kneeling down at Varlins left side. Maren kneeled on his right side, her hands busy with stitching up the large cut at his arm. She hummed a sweet melody, the very same one she’d hummed to Siryn when she’d fallen from the tree at age eleven …

“Maren? I’ve got your herbs.”

“ _Ma serannas_.” Maren did not look up, but Siryn noticed the slight lift at the corners of her lips as the older woman smiled. “But I could use a hand here, Siryn. Yours, specifically.”

Siryn gave her curt nod. “Of course.”

She waited until Maren had stitched up the wound – which, thankfully, didn’t take very long. Taking a deep breath to clear her mind to focus, she let her hands hover over the injured arm, so closely she could feel the warmth of Varlins skin underneath her palms.

A soft glow started to emanate from her palms as she imagined torn flesh mending and pain dulling. It was only a soft push, the most basic of the healing spells Keeper Deshanna had taught her. Siryn could already feel Varlin slip from her grasp and tried to uphold the magic a little while longer …

 _“Emma abelas”_ , she said, withdrawing her hands. “That’s all I can do.”

“It’s more than enough. He will be alright and pull the bowstring again.” Maren started to cover Varlins arm with bandages.

“I’ll be fine,  _lethallan_ ”, he murmured.

“I still can’t wrap my mind around how you managed to injure yourself with a stick,  _lethallin_.” Siryn shook her head in disbelief. “A bears claw or hart antlers, by all means, but this …?”

“Says the girl who managed to break her hand pulling a bowstring.”

“I was seven and it was a  _huge_ bow”, Siryn protested.

“Just admit that you like throwing yourself in danger,  _lethallan_ , and I shut my mouth. For now.”

Siryn laughed. “Because I know you won’t, I desist.” She frowned. “How are you feeling?”

“It still hurts, but you don’t walk  _Vir Tanadhal_ without getting injured here and there. I can endure it, that’s all that matters.”

“Point taken. But you still owe me the story of –”

“ _Da’len_?” Deshannas voice interrupted her from outside of the  _aravel_. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but there’s something I have to talk with you about.”

Siryn sighed. “ _Abelas_ , Varlin, but … you’ve heard her.”

“Of course.” Varlin smiled at her, and Siryn stood up to slip out of the  _aravel_.

Keeper Deshanna awaited her outside. Her brow was slightly furrowed, the few strands of dark hair who had escaped her thick, long braid clued to her forehead and cheeks from the sleet. She looked more serious than usual, a notion which caused Siryn to worry. Had something happened?

“What’s wrong, Keeper?” she asked, alerted.

“What? Nothing,  _da’len._ ”

“Excuse me, but you look far too serious for  _nothing_.”

“Because it is something serious. But nothing’s wrong. Quite on the contrary,  _da’len._ ” Deshanna smiled curtly. “Please, walk with me a little.”

 _“Ma nuvenin_.”

Deshanna strode towards the outskirts of the camp, passing the statue of Sylaise the Hearthkeeper. The sleeting still hadn’t stopped, and Siryn draw her cape closer against the sudden shiver that ran down her spine.

“As you know, the creators have blessed me only with daughters.” Deshanna smiled. “Ethireen is almost twelve by now, but she hasn’t shown any magical talent. Of course, it still could happen, but at her age? I doubt. And Ilora is many things but the Second this clan so direly needs.”

Ilora, Keeper Deshannas older daughter, who’d recently gained her vallaslin, was both an extraordinary talented crafter and a skilled hunter. Siryn knew Deshanna was proud of her, even though Ilora would not follow her footsteps because of her lack in any magical talents.

“So what does this mean, Keeper?” Siryn asked. “Are we going to look for a Second in any other clan?”

“Eventually. But this is not why I wanted to speak to you.” Deshanna sighed. “I’ve already sent word to clan Valloran and, gladly, the answer has arrived today.”

“Clan Valloran? They don’t have … Wait …”

“ _Ir abelas_ , _da’len_. But I doubt I will give birth to a third child – and even if I would, it is unsure if it will have any magical talent. You’re younger, Siryn.”

Siryn swallowed. It was true. But the thought of her founding a family and raising a child …? She had no intention to bond with someone and become a mother. And yet, this conversation was drifting into territory that made her uneasy … It was not the first time they’d talked about it. She knew her keeper was afraid that she would waste her best years.

“Keeper, I …”

“I know. But as my First, it is your duty to serve the clan’s wellbeing instead of your own,  _da’len._ ” Keeper Deshanna gave her a warm, soft smile which was undoubtedly meant to sooth her, but Siryn felt her stomach twist.

She always had fulfilled her duties as best as she could. It had not always been easy, being the First, but she loved her clan and serving them had made her proud. As the First, she’d been trained to someday lead them, but leading them meant serving. It meant that she didn’t belong to herself, but to duty, to the clan – her family.

But she’d always hoped …

It was a lot to ask of her. And she didn’t like the thought, not in the slightest. A child was not something she could see herself haying in any foreseeable future.

Deshanna stopped her steps before the statue of Elgar’nan. There, in the shadow it cast, stood the still figure of a young elven man, a hunter guessing from his appearance. The right half of his face was covered with vallaslin so dark they almost seemed black, while the left stood stark in comparison with only small black wines tracing over it. His eyes were as green as the deepest forest under even brows, while his skin had the color of ochre. He wore his hair – chestnut colored strands – in a low ponytail.

“ _Da’len_ , allow me to introduce you to Lathlen of clan Valloran, son of Keeper Varathen. Lathlen, this is Siryn, my First.” Deshanna smiled warmly.

“An honor”, said Lathlen. His voice was deep and mellow.

 _“Andaran atish’an”_ , answered Siryn in the most polite voice she could manage.

Lathlen stepped out of the shadow of his chosen creator. “I’m glad we finally meet. Your keeper told me much about you.”

Siryn cast a side glance at Deshanna. “She did?”

Lathlen flashed a smile. “Of course. I’m curious to learn if she was exaggerating. But so far …” His eyes traced her face, the lines of her  _vallaslin_  and the scar at her temple. “ … I’m not disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, but she didn’t tell me much about you.” Siryn smiled weakly. “Care to correct that?”

 _“Ma nuvenin.”_ Lathlen gestured her to follow him, and Siryn obliged. She was, after all, still First to her clan and if her keeper wanted her to spend some time with Lathlen … Her first impression of him wasn’t that bad after all, even though the thought of bonding with him was unsettling …

“You’re a hunter, I take it?” she asked him in a casual voice.

“Yes. Hunter and protector, occasionally.”

“The  _shemlen_?”

“Who else?” he answered curtly.

Siryn studied his face from aside, the sharp line of his jaw, how he furrowed his brow in anger.

“I’m glad the  _shemlen_ leave us be” she said slowly. “Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate it during your visit?”

“I’m not here for a visit, but yes … I’d like to.” He shrugged dismissively. “We had happy days, though. I remember the day I went into the forests and didn’t return until three days later … My father was possibly worried about me, but I wasn’t in danger. You know, there were whose two bears who’d attacked and killed two of our hunters … possibly raving madness. I was determined to strike them down, and I was victorious. It was incredible difficult to track them down, much more to kill them, and …”

Siryn tried her hardest to feign interest in his story while all she wanted was him to shut up about it. She had to force herself to listen, to stay and not to yawn or roll her eyes in annoyance. That she bore Andruils  _vallaslin_  didn’t mean she was interested in hunting stories, something the hunters in her clan had learned a long time ago.

Sweet relief was washing over her when he finally finished his story and flashed her a brief smile.

“You really killed those bears single-handedly?”

“I’ve learned from the best. It’s really nothing that special, Siryn.”

Except that he had sounded like it was.

“Your clan must be very proud of you.”

“Maybe. Of course they were all relieved that someone had dealt with those bears.” He shrugged. “If you like, I can you show one the furs – I left the other one with my clan.”

 _Creators, please don’t!_ “I’d like that.”

He took off his backpack and opened the sash to pull something big and fury out of it. Admittedly, the pelt was pretty large, but it did nothing to quell her annoyance.

“You can keep it” Lathlen said.

“ _Ma serannas …_ You needn’t have bothered.” She had the slight suspicion that the sarcastic undertone of it didn’t slip his notice, but he showed no reaction.

“We’ll bond. You should know that I can provide for you.” He closed the sash of his backpack and rose to his feet. “But have bothered you for too long. You’re the First, you have other matters to attend. We’ll speak soon.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Siryn with a large bear fur, the so-called proof of his manhood. She wanted nothing more than to burn it right in front of him, but she held her fire. He was neither a bad man nor bad-locking, and she was pretty sure there were women who would gladly listen to his hunting stories, who would feel flattered that he’d gifted them with such an – admittedly – impressive pelt … But she was not one of those women.

She simply felt tired and annoyed.

 

In the following days, Siryn obliged Keeper Deshannas wish to spent some time in Lathlen’s company. She was still the First, and she knew her duties. But she couldn’t bring herself to like him enough to even consider bonding with him. He was kind to her, but his smile never reached his eyes. He tried his best to put her at ease, and she was thankful for it, but it was painfully obvious that he was only interested in her because of her status as the First.

As soon as he found out that she was not interested in hunting stories, he ceased. They tried to talk about something else, but it turned out that their interests didn’t quite align. The silence which followed felt all the more awkward. She tried to break it with a joke, but the only respond she got was a slightly annoyed frown.

The more time past, the more impossible it seemed to her that she could successfully bond with him. She knew all too well that clan Lavellan needed more mages, but the thought of being Lathlens mate made her uneasy. He was not a bad man, but if she could not even find some common ground with him, how could she believe that she would one day care for him enough to share her bedroll with him?

As the days passed by, she found herself desperately thinking about a way out it, yet found nothing.

It was the fifth day after Lathlens arrival when suddenly an opportunity arose.

She had only just returned from the forests surrounding the camp when she noticed a gathering in front of Keeper Deshannas  _aravel_. Curious, she approached them.

“ … chosen you to spy on their gathering,  _da’len_ ” she heard her keeper say as she came closer.

The hunter in front of Deshanna – Dharen – bowed his head. “I feel honored that you’ve chosen me for this task, Keeper. I will not disappoint you.”

“I have no doubt”, answered Deshanna confidently.

“What’s going on here?”

Dharen turned his head to look at her. “The leader of the  _shemlen_  Chantry has announced a gathering in the Frostback Montains. A conclave. Keeper Deshanna has asked me to journey there and keep an eye on them.”

“It is a gathering of both mages and templers, and I’m quite sure the outcomings will not only effect the  _shemlen_ Circles, but also us. We cannot risk to learn of this things second-handedly”, Deshanna explained.

“Peace talks?” asked Siryn.

“Yes, so it seems.” Deshanna sighed.

“Dharen will venture there? When?”

“I’ll depart in three days, First.”

Siryns mind stared racing. It was obvious why she hadn’t been asked to go this  _shemlen_ conclave – she was the First, and clan Lavellan didn’t have a Second. Otherwise, Deshanna might have tasked her with this. But Deshanna wanted her to stay.

“I could go instead.” The words had escaped her lips before she could hold them back.

“Don’t be ridiculous,  _da’len._ Clan Lavellan needs you.” Deshanna shook her head. “You’re not expendable.”

“I’m sure Dharen does like to be viewed that way …”

“I’m well aware of the risks.” Dharen frowned at her. “The keeper is right. The clan has plenty of hunters, but it has only one First.”

Siryn breathed, took in the humid air desperately. If she stayed, she had to give Lathlen an answer. Maybe she could stall him for a few weeks, but it wasn’t enough. And while she didn’t want to bond with him, she didn’t want to disappoint her keeper either. The journey to the conclave was her way out. It would delay her answer until her return …

“Keeper, you know of my talents. I could take Dharens place without much effort. Please, let me go.”

“I can’t allow you this,  _da’len. Emma serannas._ ”

Siryn squared her shoulders. She needed some time away from her clan, away from Lathlen. If her keeper wouldn’t let her go, she had to take matters into her own hands. There was still a way. A bargain neither Deshanna nor Dharen could deny her.

She hesitated only for a moment. “I invoke  _Vir Sulevanin_.”

Deshanna stared at her, her eyes widening in surprise and disbelief. “Are you sure,  _da’len_?”

“I am.” She had searched for a way out, and here it was. She would still serve her clan. She was well-suited for the task – she lacked neither the experience nor the skills. And it would buy her time. She would likely be away from her clan for a few months at least.

“I’m not happy with this,  _da’len_ , but I respect the  _Vir Sulevanin_. There is a matter … I originally intended to solve it myself, but now I’ll task you with it. There is an old ritual place of our people nearby. You will venture there and bring back whatever artifacts you can recover.”

Siryn gave her an understanding nod. “This doesn’t sound like the most complicated task …”

“I had my reasons for wanting to go there myself,  _da’len._ You’ll see for yourself when you arrive. I wish you luck.”

Siryn, taking a deep breath, nodded. “I will not disappoint you, keeper.”

 


	2. Part Two

It dawned when Siryn finally reached the old ritual site. Mud had taken a hold on her toes, and she knew that her hands looked little better. Raining had only just stopped, and the air still made of wet leaves and slit.

She took a deep breath, casting a nervous look over her shoulder, than she grabbed her staff – which she had fastened behind her back – and stepped forward, approaching the old ritual place slowly and carefully. This was a task normally to be done by her keeper, which possibly meant that a First was not yet ready.

Her feet suddenly touched stone, wet from the humid winter rain, and she placed every next step with care as she walked past broken pillars and shattered statues. She could feel a slight tingling and tickling at her skin. The air savoured of humid earth and carried a slight note of spring with it …

 _Setheneran._ A place where the Veil was thin.

Siryn took a huge step over a column that lay in her way and circled another one. The aroma of the old magic of her people still lingered while she pressed further into the old ritual site. Green vines crept over pillars and figurines, and the tingling in the air increased with every of her steps.

Looking around, she searched for any artifacts to recover, but found nothing aside from a huge mosaic half covered in vines and brown withered leaves that’d fallen from the branches above her.

Ahead of her, she noticed an altar, broken into two pieces, and approached it slowly. Her ancesters had once walked her, nearing the altar not unlike she did now … She kneeled down before the altar, bowing her head in respect of whatever god had once been worshipped here.

 _“Andaran atisha’n”_ she murmured.

She didn’t know how long she remained in her kneeling position until she heard _the noise_ and tensed, grabbing the staff she’d laid down beside her.

She rose to her feed and whirled around when the noise appeared again, closer now, the sharp sound of clicking and ticking and …

A sudden motion, crawling towards her. Too many eyes, too many legs. Siryn could feel the grip around her staff tightening as she screamed, her back crushing against the broken pieces of the altar behind her.

Spiders. The sort of huge, hairy, ugly spiders she hated with every fiber of her being, that haunted her in her dreams sometimes … She struggled to stay at her feet while she retreated. She sought to call upon the void, to call fire into her hands, but she wasn’t successful until the second try.

She cast it, burned the spider which was closest to her, nearly dripping over something that lay in her way … She twirled her staff, creating a barrier around her as the second spider reached her … Sharp mandibles sought to bite her skin, but the ward held. Siryn hit it with her staff, as hard and fierce as she could manage, and threw the creature of her, impaling it before it could attack her again. The blade at the end of her staff sunk deep into the dark, hairy exoskeleton, causing a sick, cracking sound that made her shudder.

She retreated, reinforcing her barrier and summoned lightning against a third spider that crawled towards her. Her left ankle suddenly tripped in something and she fell, faster than she could react …

She crushed through vines and old leaves, tearing them as she fell. The impact forced her to exhale, driving the air out of her lungs so suddenly that saw stars dancing before her eyes. She lay still there for a moment, inhaling deeply to try to steady her breathing again, and felt her whole body aching from the fall.

Siryn took a deep breath until she forced herself to stand up and look around, even though her arms and legs were protesting. She could already tell from how she was feeling that she would gain some ugly bruises from this experience.

She cast her eyes around, taking in the scene. What she saw was completely different from the ritual site above … It was darker down here, but the mosaics who adorned the walls were nearly undamaged. She strode towards them, letting her fingers trace over the picture.

It took her eyes a moment to fully adapt to the twilight down here … Her hands were trailing above the mosaic of Fen’Harel the Dread Wolf. Her fingers came suddenly to a halt and she stepped back, frowning at the picture in front of her. Was this ritual site dedicated to the Bringer of Nightmares? She found it hard to believe, but maybe … maybe the Ancient Elves had visited this place to calm him, to appease him?

Maybe he was only one of many Creators depictured here?

Either way, she was eager to find out.

Siryn strode along the walls – the chamber was hexagonal, every ceiling decored with another mosaic, but from each and every one of them the Dread Wolf stared at her. None of them looked the same, but it was the Wolf every time. On some of the mosaics, he almost seemed peaceful, relaxed … friendly, but others showed him with his teeth bared, ready to strike and kill. 

Siryn stepped back from the mosaic, shaking her head, shuddering. Creators, she’d _bowed her head_ before the Dread Wolf … She’d kneeled down and bowed to him, had paid him her respect. If she just had known …

What if she, through this action – however unintended it had been – she had drawn his attention? What if he had cast his gaze at her, the stupid Dalish woman who’d kneeled down at his broken altar …? She could only hope that he’d not paid attention to the dumbness of one mortal elf.

Absent-mindedly, she turned her small wooden ring around her finger while she looked around. If she would not return with any artifacts, _Vir Sulevanin_ would be considered a failure and she would have to stay. She searched the chamber, step by step, eyes pint down to the floor and fingers groping the walls around her.

She passed the mosaic of the Dread Wolf howling over the dead womans body again when her fingers rubbed along something at the wall and she heard a distant rasping noise. As if stone craped over stone … Furrowing her brow, she turned around and observed the mosaic closer. The wall looked different than before, slightly more away from where she stood.

Had she activated a mechanism? Carefully she pushed her hand forward … and gasped as the whole wall moved backwards and suddenly disappeared out of her sight. A hidden chamber …

Siryn took a deep breath, readying herself to enter. Whatever lay inside, it was likely not meant for the eyes of The People, as Fen’Harel did not care for them … maybe it was even dangerous.

She called upon the void, creating a barrier around her and took a step forward. It was dark inside, but by far not enough for her eyes to fail her. The walls were blank and bare, and they felt rough and uneven under her touch. The chamber was empty, but the air was filled with the slight humming of magic, the taste of ozone tickling at her throat.

There was only one – and empty – pedestal inside, ahead of her. She could feel the humming of magic intensifying as she neared it. An invisibility spell? This chamber seemed empty, but Siryn doubted it had been hidden so well when there was nothing of any worth inside it …

She stepped closer, summoning a spark into her hands. While she could still see pretty well, she wanted to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. She drew from the Beyond, pushing slightly against the pedestal, to test if there was anything hidden and unseen. She could feel the response of whatever it was pulsing through her as her magic washed over it.

There was definitely something, and she could sense the outlines of it. While she did not know what it was, it could possibly be an artifact worthy recovering, and if she could take it with her … Siryn inhaled slowly, strengthening her barrier, prepared for what was to come and extended her hand towards the hidden thing on the pedestal. She gasped as her fingers brushed over it. It felt cold under her touch. Weird. She could not even see it, but …

She withdrew her hand. Her keeper had scolded her too often for her impulsiveness, and this was too important. She had to be patient, even though it cost her.  She strengthened the barrier she’d cast around her, warded herself with every protection spell she’d learned until she – finally – reached out for the hidden artifact atop the pedestal with her magic. She gripped it tight and let it hover in the air before her. Even through all the wards, she could feel a distinct pain pulsing through her body, an exhaustion which made her steps heavy and her eyes weary. She forced herself to leave the chamber.

It took her everything to climb out of it while she still levitated the invisible artifact. By the time she reached the surface, she was heavily gasping for air and her legs trembled beneath her. She struggled to keep her pace as steady as she could, but every move drained her further.

She could feel her strength bleeding into the ground beneath her feet, but forced herself to keep going. If she failed in her task, her end of the bargain would be considered incomplete and she had to stay with her clan … And she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she couldn’t do that. Not if it meant bonding with Lathlen, a man she neither knew nor cared for …

She would return, eventually, but she needed the time away. She needed to clear her head, to overthink the situation, to come to a more permanent situation …

Siryn nearly crushed into a tree, her legs to shaky to carry her safely home. Just so uphold her focus drained her, exhausted her beyond measure. She staggered, using the tree stumps to keep her upright and on her feet. Already began her vision to blur around the edges.

Whatever wards protected the artifact, they were beyond her magical knowledge and she could only try to stay on her feet and keep going. Heavily breathing while she felt her mana sucked out of her body and mind, she fought to stay on her feet while she staggered from tree to tree.

She could not let go off the artifact. If she would, she doubted she would ever find it again.

She didn’t know how long she was carrying herself that way until she finally collapsed and her face hit the dirt. She lay there, shuddering, heavily breathing, refusing to let go off the artifact in the grasp of her magic, while they world around her turned black …

She woke inside a familiar aravel. The worried faces of keeper Deshanna and her father and brother and sister hovered above her, serious expressions and eyes filled with regret – at least on Deshannas account …

“You’re finally awake!” _Babae_ sighed in relief. “I was worried for you, _asha’lan_.”

“I … made it?” Siryn asked weakly.

“You did, but only barely so”, said Deshanna. “ _Ir abelas, da’len_. I should not have tasked you with this. The fault is mine. I failed you.”

“The artifact?”

“I found it nearby your unconscious body, _da’len._ It is safe for now. _Ir abelas_. I wished I’d tasked you with something simpler …”

“You better should have, keeper”, spat _babae_ sharply. “This task was not for an apprentice to make, and she still is …”

“I know. I can only apologize.” Keeper Deshanna sighed. “For what it is worth: I consider _Vir Sulevanin_ to be successfully completed. She recovered the artifact and brought it to us.”

 _“Ma serannas_ , keeper.” Siryn exhaled slowly. She still felt weary and a little exhausted, but it was already fading, now that the artifact was no longer affecting her. She sat up, a little bit too quickly because she already started feeling dizzy, and took a deep breath to steady herself. “I have to speak to Deshanna. Alone.”

“You’re sure? You just woke up …”

Siryn cut _babae_ of, waving her hand to stop him from speaking. “I’m fine. And I’m not a child any more. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Her father sighed, exhaling slowly, hands running through his thick, long dark hair. Worry was etched in every inch of his face, but he finally stood up and signaled her siblings to leave the aravel with him. He cast a look over his shoulder at her before the plane swung back in place … Siryn suppressed a sigh. _Babae_ had been worried for her, as if she still was that sickly little babe he’d raised alone after her mother had died ... She couldn’t blame him for caring about her, but it was trying at times …

“You wanted to talk to me, _da’len_?” Keeper Deshanna’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the here and now.

“Yes.” Siryn took a deep breath. “The ritual site you’ve sent me to? I have … discovered to whom it belonged.” She did not avert her Keeper’s eye when she told her, “It’s Fen’Harel’s.”

“You’re sure of that?” Keeper Deshanna breathed.

“Pretty sure. The chamber I fell into – where I found the artifact – was full of mosaics depicturing the Dread Wolf. No hint of Mythal, or June, or Ghilan’nain or any of the others.”

The herbs and fires of Sylaise covering Deshannas face wrinkled in worry around her brows and eyes. “It figures. Only the Dread Wolf would cast such an vicious spell upon his belongings. You were wise not to touch it with your bare hands, _da’len._ It could have just as well killed you …”

“I nearly had …”

“Then, at least, my teachings were not for nothing.” Deshanna smiled at her, a friendly, appreciative, even proud smile – but still tainted with worry.

“I wonder … why would the Ancient Elves dedicate on of their ritual sites to the Dread Wolf?” Siryn played, absent-mindedly, with the small wooden ring she wore on her right hand’s index finger.

“I can only guess. Maybe he tricked them into worshipping him, or they made offerings there to appease him.” Deshanna shook her head. “I’m more worried about you, First.”

“Me? Why?”

Deshanna avoided her eyes when she answered, her voice sounding fearful and worried at the same time. “You’ve entered on the places sacred to the Great Wolf, _da’len_. I fear that he made have laid his gaze upon you …”

Siryn sighed. The Dread Wolf had haunted her since she’d been little. It was for this reason she hadn’t wanted her family to stay while she talked to Deshanna. There was no point in worrying them even more.

“I will leave tomorrow.”

“I will personally see to it that you have everything you need for your journey,  _da’len._ ”

Siryn nodded. “Thank you.”

She didn’t believe that Fen’Harel had caught her scent, but if it soothed Deshanna … At least she would now agree with her that it was better for her to leave the clan for a while. A Keeper had to protect their clan from the Dread Wolf, even it meant sending their own First away.

She would depart tomorrow.

 

 


End file.
